


To Give

by Spoon888



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Megatron, Deepthroating, M/M, Oral Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25451455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Megatron getting absolutely railed by Tarn. That's it. That's the fic.
Relationships: Megatron/Tarn (Transformers)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 240





	To Give

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodsugar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsugar/gifts).



Megatron did not like Tarn. 

There was something pleasing in his blind devotion to the cause, and to him, and it was never not satisfying to know the mech would complete whatever task asked of him with such single minded determination.

But for entirely personal reasons, he did not like Tarn. 

"You summoned me, my lord?" Tarn voice purred from the darkened doorway of his Command Quarters, his low toned words rolling across the room, a pleasing tenor to Megatron's audials. There was no note of questioning- Tarn knew what he had been called for. One did not receive a summons to their lord and leader's private accommodations to merely go over mission briefings -even if that was the excuse Starscream commonly used when he was caught sneaking out of them in the unsociable hours of the morning. 

Already keyed up and tingling with charge he had worked up through languid self-serving and gutter-worthy thoughts, Megatron stood before his berth unarmed, tac-net offline. As helpless as he could conceivably make himself. "Close the door," he ordered. 

He did not like Tarn, but he enjoyed his stamina, his strength, the roughness of his hands and above all his need to _please_. Megatron had his pick of mecha to 'face, many of them seekers -flexible, supple, and sensitive- but so few fit the category Tarn did. So few had the ability to hold _him_ down, to ravish him, to leave him sprawled across a ruined berth undone and hollowed out and unable to think a single coherent thought. 

Tarn entered the room properly with an obedient curtsy, sealing the door behind him with flourish. Megatron rolled his optics. Were the mech not so attractively intimidating and large, glowing with his absurd selection of bio-lights, Megatron might have lost some of his charge. 

Fortunately for Tarn, he was too far gone to talk himself out of this now. 

He dropped to the floor before his pride could resurface, and the sight of him on his knees had Tarn's optics blooming brightly behind the mask. Megatron couldn't -and did not want to- imagine the ridiculously awed expression he was hiding under there, so he focused southwards, to the pelvic armour now level with his face. He didn't need to touch Tarn for his loyal supporter's spike to pressurise, panels transforming away to reveal a stiffening length of embellished metal that always seemed a tad too flash for Tarn. 

It was dark metal, glossed black in places, thicker at the base and gradually tapered towards a pointed tip. It was dotted with bio-lights pulsing warmly along the underside and ringed with deep ridges. Heavy and large, it drooped under it's own weight. 

Tarn took it lightly and lifted it. It twitched when Megatron's breath dusted it. The slit irised open as a bead of transfluid welled up. Megatron jutted out his tongue and laved over the tip, savouring the taste before taking the head into his mouth. Tarn's motor purred appreciatively. His other hand rose to cup the back of Megatron's head, tilt it back, open his throat, urge him to take a little more, a little deeper. 

There was always a point where Tarn's lust overrode his reverence. It arrived sooner than expected when Megatron swallowed audibly around him as he bobbed his head, letting the tip of his spike slip into his throat tubing. 

Tarn's fingers flexed as he struggled to rein himself in, but instinct took over and Megatron's valve pulsed wetly when Tarn pushed on the back of his helm and feed him his spike until he had hilted himself down his leader's intake. Megatron gargled, his nose and chin hitting Tarn's pelvic armour with a neat _clink_. 

His jaw strained around the wide base and he choked, bracing himself against Tarn's thighs. Tarn's head was thrown back, his mask tilted towards the ceiling like he knew if he looked down and saw Megatron with lips pulled taunt around him, mouth stuffed with spike, he would finish himself there and then. 

It started with little rocks forward, Tarn seeking friction. Megatron could do nothing but open up his throat and let Tarn gradually thrust into his face, squeezing his thighs to fight back the automatic gag response. It became messy quickly. Drool began to escape his lips and drip down his chin. He moaned as the ridges of Tarn's spike dragged over his tongue.

Between his thighs his panel had opened and his valve was bared to the world. It felt wet and tight, pulsing softly with it's aching need to be filled. His hips swayed in the air and drips of cooling lubricant began to roll down the insides of his thighs. 

As Tarn became frantic in his moments, closing in on his overload, Megatron tore himself from his submissive haze and hit Tarn's thighs to draw his attention, stopping the other mech from leaving him with a tank full of transfluid and a valve woefully unused. 

Tarn glanced down and withdrew from his mouth swiftly, his optics bright and apologetic when he broke the spit-string of oral lubricant connecting his spike to Megatron's sloppy lips. He wiped the mess away vehemently. 

Megatron brushed his hands away impatiently and clambered upright to sit back on the berth. Tarn closed in on him, a mountain of heavy armour, his mask looming like a omen. His spike bobbed with every step and Megatron spread his legs wider, desperate to have it inside him, stretching him - leaving his mind empty and his valve full. 

Tarn tugged him towards the edge of the berth, wide optics flicking to Megatron's with every touch, despite Megatron's blanket permission, seeking approval for every grab and yank. 

Situated at the end of the berth, aft hanging off the edge, legs held aloft in Tarn's strong hands, Tarn tipped his hips forward and slid his spike between Megatron's soaking mesh folds and over his anterior node, the flared tip catching at the sensor rich cluster with every pass. 

Megatron's vocaliser caught and emitted an embarrassingly sharp burst of static. Tarn's optics sparked, his engine turning over. He ground against him a little harder. Megatron canted his hips towards the pressure, but Tarn was too obedient to ever proceed without permission 

Megatron bit his bottom lip, a rush of heat filling his face, "Tarn..." 

"Yes, my lord," Tarn's murmured reverently, rocking his spike lazily, back and forth. 

"Blast it, Tarn, you know what I want-!" Megatron hissed, writhing at the transfer of powerful currents between their arrays. He was soaking. He could feel the slick of his own lubricants on Tarn's spike, some of it dripping off the bottom on his shaft and puddling on the berth beneath Megatron's legs. 

If Tarn hadn't been so brainwashed into loyalty, Megatron might have suspected he was drawing this out on purpose. 

"Fuck me!" He snapped, baring his denta and balling his fists. 

Tarn, finally, did as he asked, murmuring some worshipful nonsense that never quite made it to Megatron's processor as his spike finally found the rim of his valve and began to _press_. 

Megatron moaned like a tramp-bot with it's inhibitions programmed to it's lowest settings, convulsing at the sensation of being spread open. There was little size differentiation between him and Tarn -they were both tanks- but his valve didn't have the 'give' as ...say a seeker who regularly used theirs did. And when he _did_ deign to use it, there were few who matched his size, few that had the girth to make his callipers _work_. Tarn was large. Even for him, he was large - and Primus, was it glorious.

He could hear Tarn purring his designation -rare for him to be so familiar in person, even if he was bolts deep inside him. Tarn began to use his legs as leverage to pump into him, deeper with every thrust, gradually working the generous width of his spike, inch by inch, past the stubborn, flexing rim of his valve and into the soft, rippling interior of callipers and silicone textured walls. 

Megatron's mouth was open and he was aware he was speaking - rambling really, but he couldn't hear himself over his own roaring vents, over Tarn's reverberating engine, over the rattling _clunk_ of their armour coming together again and again, until Tarn was finally sheathed to the hilt, and Megatron's optics rolled into the back of his helm. 

Megatron jabbed his fingers into the berth padding and ignored the rip of fabric as Tarn pulled back, drawing his spike out, ridge by ridge. They caught the rim of Megatron's valve and sent shudders up his back-strut. When just the tip remained inside, Megatron felt him twitch. 

"Tarn..." he mumbled, clenching down on it encouragingly. 

Tarn's optics shuttered through the holes in the eye sockets, and as quick as he would move in a fight, Tarn swept back into him, striking at his core, the pointed tip of his spike nailing Megatron's ceiling-node head on. Megatron wailed, hands flying up to clutch at Tarn as the rhythm was set, fast, hard, merciless, and _thorough_ \- all the things he appreciated about the unhinged Decepticon. 

He unleashed a stream of utter nonsense, his legs hooking around Tarn's middle to draw him closer, tilting his head towards the looming mask. If Tarn had taken the damn thing off he could have kissed him and lost himself further-

Tarn knocked their helms together in a pathetic substitute for a kiss, his optics dimming fondly as he clumsily nuzzled his leader, his repeated pummelling of Megatron's luxurious valve driving him ever closer to overload. Waves of building pleasure coursed between their systems, passing back and forth. 

Megatron reached the edge first, his valve spasming helplessly as Tarn continued to brutalise it, the continued pumping of a spike into his overloading valve causing him to shout and cry. Every possible sensor was alight and Tarn was hitting each and every last one of then. 

"Megatron," he purred and finally stopped, holding deep to empty his transfluid into him, thrusting lazily between every pulse of his spike, displacing the viscous fluid he was spilling and sending it spurting from Megatron's wrecked valve. 

Tarn ground into him one last time, taking liberties with his handiwork as he circled his hips, before finally easing himself out. 

Megatron let his legs fall away from him and hang listlessly open. Tarn rose to stand over him, his vents huffing with exertion. His optic's tracked over his leader's frame, slowly, undoubtedly taking sly image-captures to add to his collection. 

Megatron twitched when he felt his valve wink open, dispelling another trickle of transfluid. Tarn's engine stuttered. 

"Were my efforts to your satisfaction, my lord?" Tarn asked reverently, breathing heavily, and not just from the exertion of 'facing. Megatron knew he ought to send the overeager mech away, lest he be set upon again.

It was some time before Megatron's vocaliser clicked back online. "Thank you, Tarn," he told the ceiling hoarsely, unable to meet the mech's gaze. 'That will be all." 

Tarn tucked himself behind his panel and to Megatron's mortification, _bowed_. "A privilege, my lord." 

Megatron waited until he'd heard his heavy pedefalls cross over the threshold of his quarters and the door shutting behind him, before burying his face in his hands with a defeated groan. 

Hopeless. 

He did _not_ like Tarn. 

But his _spike_ was simply glorious. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Slaves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25484779) by [AsYouCommand (OminousHummingObelisk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OminousHummingObelisk/pseuds/AsYouCommand)




End file.
